Page 154 of Colour My World
At Darcy’s side, Colonel Fitzwilliam held his post with a soldier’s composure, though a faint twitch at his jaw betrayed him. He was not as tranquil as he appeared.
Nor was Anne de Bourgh, who sat in the front pew, her gloved hands perfectly still, her gaze fixed. Their aires danced around each other, a waltz in two colours.
A quiet thrill curled in Elizabeth’s stomach. They would be interesting to watch.
Lady Catherine sat beside Mrs Ecclestone, the two of them silent, their aires intertwined like girls in the schoolroom sharing secrets.How lovely that they have reconciled theirdifferences.
Behind them, the Hursts sat further down the row, elegant, composed. Louisa Hurst inclined her head towards Elizabeth with the easy poise of a confidante.
Mr Bingley entered alone, his coat immaculate, his expression unreadable until Jane turned slightly at the altar, and the sunlight touched her cheek. He stared and did not look away. Hisairenoticeably deepened. Throughout the ceremony, he sat like a man suspended between memory and hope.
Kitty beamed from the Bennet pew. Lydia attempted solemnity but failed—twice. Charlotte wore a smile like soft armour. Mr and Mrs Gardiner held hands, quietly radiant.
And Mr Bennet stood taller than she had ever seen him.
When the vows were said and the world shifted forever, Darcy lifted her hand to his lips. “My wife,” he murmured, just for her.
Elizabeth grinned. “I thought I was to be addressed as Mrs Darcy.”
He looked as though he had forgotten how to breathe. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted. She would never grow tired of that expression.
* * *
The quiet of the vestry proved a welcome reprieve from the well-wishers. The vicar, Mr Hargrove, separated them from the exuberant crowd, allowing them to sign the official register. Darcy dipped his quill with precision, his penmanship even and immaculate.
Elizabeth peered over. “Your letters are so perfectly straight, sir.”
He rolled his eyes. “Do not make a study of it.”
“I cannot help but admire the steadiness of your hand,” she teased.
“Elizabeth.”
She smiled as she signed her Bennet name for the last time. And then, from behind them—
“A word, Mr Darcy,” the vicar interposed.
Darcy turned. “Yes?”
“I was given a note for you, sir, upon a matter of family business.” Darcy frowned as the missive was placed in his hands.
Elizabeth leant near, curious. “Family business?”
He broke the seal and unfolded the note.
A wedding gift to my newest niece. I shall expect to see you every Easter for a six-week. Darcy may escort you—and should he behave, he may even remain.
Your affectionate aunt,
Lady Catherine de Bourgh
Elizabeth’s hand did little to stifle her delight at the imperious humour of that great lady.
Darcy rubbed his forehead. “Well. That seems settled.”
She took the paper from his hands, grinning. “You must admit, this is a victory.”
Darcy sighed. “For whom?”
